Enmity & Esteem
by Sushibear144
Summary: After a tragic accident leaves Darcy widowed and the Bingleys' son orphaned, Elizabeth moves to Pemberley to help care for her nephew. Unfortunately, her co-guardian is also her worst enemy. May be removed as early as 11/20 for publication but will stay up until at least then.


Prologue

Darcy turned to the doorway. There she stood in a lovely pink silk. His heart raced. He could feel the sweat on his bow. He glanced over at his sister, Georgianna, who sat next to their cousin looking utterly delighted. He swallowed and turned to the parson. His hands trembled. He would get through this. He had to.

A moment later there was a light touch on his arm. He turned to find Bingley who, with an encouraging smile, placed Caroline's hand in his own. Leaning in, Bingley whispered words welcoming him to the family. Darcy did his best to look pleased.

The ceremony was brief. If he had been asked to provide further details, he would have been at a loss. His bride took his arm, and Darcy escorted her to his carriage. It was time to take Mrs. Caroline Darcy to his London home and introduce her to the staff. Then, he could escape to his library and try to pretend this day had never happened. The carriage had gone fifteen blocks or so when the silence was breached.

"I was disappointed your aunt was not able to attend. Will you introduce us next Easter, Fitzwilliam?"

He stared out the coach window, only vaguely aware words were being spoken.

"Fitzwilliam?" The tone was more urgent.

He looked to Caroline still feeling as though he were in a dream. "What?"

"I asked if I will be going with you to meet Lady Catherine during your visit to her this spring."

He had not thought so far ahead. He was desperate for any reason to spend time away from his wife, but a visit with his aunt would not provide the respite he knew he would need. Maybe it was better to bring Caroline. As she battled with his aunt, he could escape to the grounds of Rosings.

"But then again, maybe I will be in confinement." She reached over and squeezed his arm.

He could feel his skin crawl and he slunk away from her. "I agreed to marry you, but I will not live as your husband, Caroline."

She pouted. "Fitzwilliam…"

"Mr. Darcy," he snapped.

"What?" The pout was now replaced with an opened mouth and a look of confusion.

He rolled his eyes. He could nearly taste the bile in the back of his throat. "You have blackmailed me into the marriage. I will act as I am expected in public, but privately, I want nothing to do with you. When it is just the two of us, you will not refer to me by my Christian name. You will call me Mr. Darcy."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered. "You married me because you love me."

Darcy laughed bitterly. "We both know I married you because you threatened to expose Georgiana's indiscretion, and you married me for my money and position. Love had nothing to do with this."

Her cheeks turned red and the muscles in her neck twitched. "My desire to assist you in shielding your sister from public scorn may have weighed into your decision to finally propose, dear, but you cannot deny our mutual attraction. We have been flirting for years."

_Has she gone mad? _

Darcy rapped on the roof of the carriage. As it rolled to a stop, he opened the door and jumped out. His wife hung out of the doorway as the horses continued to slow.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

Darcy turned to the driver and called, "Robert, I have just remembered an important appointment. Could you please bring Mrs. Darcy home? Mrs. Reynolds will be able to show her around and help settle her in."

The carriage had come to a halt by now and Caroline was once again by his side. "It is our wedding night," she hissed.

"So it is. It would behoove you to avoid a scene and return to the carriage. You and I will never share a bed, but if you try to be a bit more discreet, this knowledge will not go beyond Darcy House."

Her eyes grew wide, and the color drained from her face. "Where are you going?"

"To a hotel. I've had enough of you for one day." He tipped his hat and walked away.

Chapter 1

In the center of a massive room, located within an even larger home, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy sat opposite each other, separated by no more than a few feet. It was not the first morning the pair found themselves in this particular position. In fact, the scene had become so common it was quite possibly the single longest running tableau in Pemberley's 300-year history. Those familiar with the sheer size of the estate and home would have correctly concluded that the repetitive nature of this scenario could not be attributed to chance alone. To explain the strange phenomena, one might speculate that the morning's ritual was a result of camaraderie and careful planning. Although such an assumption would be based on sound reasoning, this was not the cause of these daily encounters. The true reason for these reoccurring meetings was not quite so congenial. It would be more accurate to describe the unassuming parlor as chest board on which the two players met each day to test their respective skill and tenacity.

On the particular morning, Elizabeth Bennet could feel Mr. Darcy's intense stare. The gaze of Apollo himself could not have burned hotter. The only barrier protecting her was the book she was firmly clutching in her hands. The temptation to peek over the edges of her shield was great, but her iron will prevailed. If he had a grievance, he would need to be the first to speak.

It was a game entirely unfamiliar to Elizabeth prior to her arrival at Pemberley. But she had learned the rules quickly and would not give him the satisfaction of being the first to breach the awkward silence.

Her eyes scanned the words before her. It was her third such pass, and she had no better idea of what was written now than she had the first time she had attempted to read it. But she would need to flip the page soon. Otherwise, he would know he had successfully disrupted her concentration, and that would be tantamount to losing.

Two months they had been engaged in these petty duels. It was hard for her to believe that she had ever held hope that things would be different. But the first time she had seen Pemberley anything, even a functional relationship with Mr. Darcy, had seemed possible. Oh, that moment — how a vision could evoke such a strong emotion **the emotions was a memory so strong, it could not be forgotten. **

_Her carriage had stopped at an overlook. She exited, focusing on the ground in order to avoid a misstep. The warmth of the bright sun and the scent of fresh air had been heavenly after so many hours spent sitting in a stuffy compartment. At first, her only objective was to stretch her legs. But then she lifted her chin and saw paradise. The stately house was the stuff of fairytales, and the grounds could rival the Garden of Eden. She was so overwhelmed by its beauty, all thoughts fled, and a sense of joy and wonderment filled her. But every fairytale has a villain, and Pemberley was no exception._

This particular villain was atypical. Through reading copious novels, Elizabeth believed she'd honed her skill of measuring the moral qualities in others. As new characters were introduced, she was able to recognize the heroes and antagonists immediately. It was only later she discovered reading people was not quite so simple. Sometimes, villains would blend in. This was precisely what Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had accomplished.

She had first heard of this man from Jane.

A dull pain resonated through her chest. Jane—The name echoed in her mind forcing thousands of memories to spring to life: the care her sister showed when tending to a scraped knee, the nights in bed where they whispered and giggled, Jane's marriage to her darling Mr. Bingley. Emptiness filled her. These memories were all she had left. Gentle, delicate bubbles that needed to be protected and cherished. For she would need to live off these memories until she could one day join her beloved sister on heaven's doorstep.

No. She was wrong. Pulling off the blindfold of self-pity she could see there was still much of Jane remaining here on earth. Elizabeth yearned to run to the nursery and wake little Charlie. He had his mother's eyes and would grow into a strong loving boy who would have made his parents proud. Charlie Bingley — her connection to the person she had held most dear and the chain that now bound her to Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth's thoughts were interrupted by a survey voice. "That simply will not do, Miss Bennet."

She lowered her book and her eyes peered over the edges. "And what is that, sir?"

"You should not wallow in that which cannot be changed. You do no one any favors. As Scheherazade would say, _Ne t'afflige point, oublie ces maux qui minent le coeur le plus ferme_."

Her jaw clenched and her knuckles grew white. She decided it was best to set the book aside to avoid damaging any of its pages. True, the thought of hurting something belonging to the man sitting opposite her had a certain temptation, but much like herself, this novel was not here by choice. In some ways, this book was her savior—providing her with an occasional escape from the guided cage called Pemberley.

"You presume to know my thoughts, even though my face was obscured by a book. Do you practice mind reading, Mr. Darcy?"

"An observant man has no need for such non-sense. Your very posture speaks as loudly as your voice."

Elizabeth hoped he was right and that at this very minute, her posture was screaming exactly what she thought of him. For good measure, she shot a look in his direction that she hoped would convey her scorn.

The edges of his lips twitched, and amusement twinkled in his eyes. It was an interesting reaction and reminded Elizabeth of the late Mrs. Caroline Darcy. Caroline's smug smirks and thinly disguised disdain demonstrated that she derived a perverse pleasure from judging Elizabeth. But while malice and hostility were ever present on Caroline's visage, Mr. Darcy almost appeared genuinely amused.

Elizabeth had been introduced to Caroline before ever encountering Mr. Darcy. Caroline happened to be the sister of Jane's husband—one Charles Bingley. Charles was amiable, kind, good-natured, and polite. Had Elizabeth scoured the earth, she could not have found a better match for Jane. They were made of the same stuff, and both were blissfully happy during their marriage. It was a tragedy that two people so perfectly suited were given such a brief window of time to share.

Charles had entered the Bennet's life only four years earlier. He'd taken out a lease on Netherfield, an estate that neighbored Elizabeth's family's home, Longbourn. Rumors has swirled that he would be bringing along his married sister when he took up residency. As a bachelor, Caroline would act as his hostess until he had established himself in the community. Elizabeth had been impressed by the generosity shown by Mr. Darcy. It was highly unusual for a man to allow his wife to take such a long absence merely to aid in settling of her brother. It was not until she met Mrs. Darcy that she grew to understand why Mr. Darcy might have made such a sacrifice.

Just as quickly as Charles ingratiated himself into the town's good graces, Caroline lost its regard. She was everything her brother was not. She was mean, spiteful, rude, and catty. The questions shifted from why a husband would willingly part with his wife to why any man would willingly marry Caroline Darcy. Elizabeth speculated that Mr. Darcy was either a hideous creature, a fool, or a saint.

As Jane grew closer to Charles, more information about the man became available. It seemed that Charles had a great deal of respect for Mr. Darcy and had considered him a close friend long before their families were united. By all accounts he was neither deformed nor stupid. Further, Jane assured her that his decision to marry was not dictated by need of wealth or connections.

It stood to reason that Elizabeth would assume the only other possible explanation for the match must be that Mr. Darcy was a patient and forgiving soul who, very much like Jane, could only see the good in others. Never having considered he was simply the male version of his wife, Elizabeth awaited their first meeting with great excitement, and she did not need to wait long.

Elizabeth sat on the window seat in her bedroom at Longbourn looking as the rain crashed violently toward the earth. Jane should have returned by now. She had only gone to Netherfield for tea. The sky was dark, but Elizabeth could not say if this was due to the late hour or the thick blanket of grey clouds that hung overhead. She could hear her mother cheerfully humming downstairs. Elizabeth's anger bubbled just below the surface. Their mother was so determined to marry off her daughters that Jane had been sent, ill-prepared, into battle with nature.

_If anything has happened to her, I will never forgive Mama. _

A messenger riding a horse came into view. Elizabeth flew to the front door and discovered that her worst fears were realized. Jane's delicate constitution had not been able to withstand a journey on horseback in this weather. She had a fever and would need to remain at Netherfield until she recovered. Mrs. Bennet was overjoyed at the news. Elizabeth, filled with worry, resolved to go to her sister's aid as soon as the storm broke.

The next morning, four miles from home and knee deep in mud, Elizabeth stomped toward her sister. Given the early hour and the condition of the road, she was taken by surprise when she noticed a man walking toward her.

She knew instantly that he was not from Meryton for if their paths had ever crossed before, she would have remembered. He was so handsome she wondered if the light and her mind were playing tricks on her. His porcelain skin was unblemished and provided a stunning contrasted with his dark hair and suit. He had a straight nose and square jaw. The symmetry of his features was remarkable. The closer he approached, the more breathtaking he became. Fortunately, his head was dropped ever so slightly so he was not aware that she was gawking in the most unladylike manner. She knew she should avert her gaze before she was caught, but it was a struggle to look away.

As he drew near, he lifted his chin, and Elizabeth did the only thing she could think of. She smiled brightly and said, "Good Morning!"

With a set jaw and narrowed eyes, he scanned her from head to toe. He did not smile, in fact, he never even moved his lips. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he tipped his hat. It was obvious he did not want to. In fact, he might have actually resented being forced to do it. His cold eyes turned away and suddenly, her impression of his chiseled face shifted. Although she would have said it flawless ten seconds earlier, she now felt a more apt description would be the word cold.

She picked up her pace hoping to distract herself from feeling an irritation and anger that was not entirely justifiable. Upon her arrival at Netherfield, she was told that Mr. Darcy had recently arrived from London and was out on a walk. It was then that she connected the name with the man she had just encountered.

"Do I have something on my face?"

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of the deep baritone. Her eyes fluttered, and when her focus returned, it was the very same symmetrical face of her thoughts which now stared back at her. She had been daydreaming. She cleared her throat and asked, "Excuse me?"

"You have been looking at me for several minutes. Is there something amiss?" He lifted a side of his face in a sneer. "Or was there another reason you were staring at me?"

Her cheeks burst into flames. And she dropped her eyes so quickly she knew she inadvertently gave the impression that she was staring upon his beauty. Not that she was, of course. She had not even known she was looking at him until he'd spoken. And just because he had beauty did not mean she wanted to look upon it. _He might have the face of an angel but so does Lucifer. _

"I was simply daydreaming, Mr. Darcy. Nothing more."

"Do you often find yourself staring at me while daydreaming?"

His arrogance was legendary. Why had Jane and Charles made them joint executors of the will? This was pure torture.

She pursed her lips. "Generally, I find I only stare at you when I have a waking-nightmare."

He cocked his head and his lip twitched before he lifted his news sheets.

With her nemesis temporarily hidden behind such large pages, she had no reason to continue to pretend to read. She should do something productive. Miss Harris had asked her to knit three blankets for the annual Lambton Bizarre. Each year the Ladies of Lambton, headed by Miss Harris, sold handmade crafts at the event to raise money for orphans. As much as she hated to knit, Elizabeth could think of no way to refuse.

With a heavy sigh, she stood from her seat and crossed the room. The sound of news sheets crumpling told her he had stopped reading and was watching her. She knew why.

"Did you agree to another knitting project?" Mr. Darcy called from the sofa.

Elizabeth's eyes rolled. "And what if I did?"

"She is taking advantage of you…."

Two short months and the man had learned to read her like a book. How did he know it was Miss Harris? "I don't know what you mean. I quite enjoy knitting."

He snorted in such a way it left no question that he had seen right through her lie. The news sheets crinkled, and she released a silent breath knowing that the shield was back in place. Having collected her yarn and needles she made her way back to her seat. There were dozens of other options in the room. There was a lovely armchair near the window, a divan near the fire, a chaise by the back wall, but she had arrived first and had claimed her spot. She would burn in hell before he would drive her from it.

"Knitting is relaxing," she added hoping to convince him, as well as herself.

He did not lower the paper. He merely replied in his nonchalant manner, "If you must tell yourself you enjoy knitting because you do not have the courage to refuse that self-centered Miss Harris, I will not stop you."

She could see his expression in her mind. The self-righteous smirk, the condescending stare. She yanked on the end of the yarn with so much force and speed, she pulled the other end, which was wrapped into a ball, right out of the basket. She watched as it rolled across the room.

He lowered his page and followed the trail of blue wool with his eyes. "My mistake. It clearly relaxes you."

She stood up and marched to the ball's final resting place. "She is not self-centered. She devotes all of her free time to various causes," she called. She got down on her knees and crawled under the table to retrieve her item.

"You mean she devotes all of her time to cajoling other women into using their free time for her causes and assumes all of the recognition for her army of slaves' success."

Having extracted the lost ball, she brushed off her skirts and returned to her seat. "You do not know her. Your pride and arrogance allow you to pass judgement without sufficient exposure."

"And you, Miss Bennet, jump to conclusions too quickly. You judge based on appearances and your prejudice prevents you from seeing the error in your assessments regardless of the time you spend in her company. My advice to you is this: learn to say no."

Elizabeth looked down at the pointy ends of her needles and wondered how one would go about sharpening a cone.

"Am I interrupting?" Georgianna Darcy asked as she walked into the room.

"No, not at all," her brother replied. "I was just about to get ready to go into town." He folded his papers and set them down before standing.

"Oh!" Georgiana clasped her hands together. "Elizabeth, didn't you say you wanted to go into town today?"

Elizabeth felt a cold chill run up her spine.

"I am delighted to offer you both a ride," Mr. Darcy replied.

He sounded friendly enough, but she knew it was all an act. Elizabeth looked up at Georgiana and swallowed. Turning to Mr. Darcy, she said, "Thank you, but I was going into town because I was hoping for a long walk."

He nodded, gave both ladies a bow, and exited the room.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth pushed open the door to the bookshop and was greeted by the familiar sound of chimes. This lovely little store was perhaps her favorite place in all of Derbyshire. The family who owned it, the Greenwoods, was friendly and kind. She had built a rapport with them, so they permitted her access to the newest shipments of books until they were sold or collected by the wealthy patrons who had ordered them. Even without the literature, this shop would have been amongst her favorites. The walls were painted in warm tones that gave the cozy little room a homey feeling. But it was the smell that made this spot so utterly comforting.

She loved the smell of books. It reminded her of her father's office and the countless hours spent sitting in a circle with her sisters reading stories on rainy days. It was the scent of home. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Something was not right. Mixed in with the slightly bittersweet smell of aging books was the unmistakable earthy aroma of sandalwood and horses. It was the smell of Mr. Darcy.

Her eyelids sprung open. There he was, directly in front of her. They rarely both stood face-to-face, but when they did, she was always a bit intimidated. She knew he was tall, but when she observed him from a seated position, she assumed it was the angle of her position that exaggerated his height. Now, seeing him with his arms folded, she was reminded just how menacing he could be. His sturdy frame had to be at least six foot three inches. She shifted uncomfortably. His gaze remained fixed on her.

"It turns out it was not as easy to locate as I had hoped, but we found a copy in Manchester."

Elizabeth turned toward the voice, which appeared to be buried within the rows of items stored on the left side of the room. It belonged to Mr. Greenwood. He emerged from between two freestanding shelves with his nose pointed down at the open book carried in his hands. He snapped it closed and looked at Elizabeth. His expression brightened. "Miss Bennet! What a pleasure to see you again."

Elizabeth returned his smile and a sense of relief washed over her. The sight of a friendly face served as a reminder that she had no reason to be uncomfortable. She was almost certainly more welcome here than Mr. Darcy was. Even though he was one of their best paying customers, she could sense that Mr. Darcy left all of the shopkeepers feeling a little uneasy.

"Your shipment has also arrived!" Mr. Greenwood added. He pushed the bridge of his spectacles up on his nose with his finger. He was a man of average height who always appeared slightly disheveled regardless of his attire. His hair was somewhat unruly and often fell into his eyes. But he had an infectious smile and he could not walk into a room without bringing in a little bit of cheer.

Until these words, Elizabeth had forgotten about her order. Her shoulders straightened. It seems I too am a paying customer, she thought with satisfaction.

"It is not terribly easy to find paper dolls," Mr. Greenwood said as he crossed to the other side of the counter, opposite Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy's head slowly turned away from her until he was looking directly at Mr. Greenwood. "Paper dolls, you say?"

She wanted a hole to form in the floor and swallow her up.

"Mm," Mr. Greenwood grunted. He was busy wrapping the book in paper and had no way of seeing the silent but pleading and panicked messages she was attempting to send to him. "She must have dozens, perhaps hundreds. This one is the Mary Queen of Scots collection. She might need to store it in a separate drawer from the one her parents sent her for her birthday." He laughed a little as he secured the paper with string. "They sent her Queen Elizabeth," he explained briefly glancing up at Mr. Darcy. His head then dropped as he tied the string tight. "This one comes with so many dresses, you might need to sharpen your scissors, Miss Bennet," he called.

She stood perfectly still, frozen by mortification.

"And here is your copy of The Arabian Nights' Entertainment, Mr. Darcy." Mr. Greenwood handed the wrapped package to Mr. Darcy who took it and tucked it into his pocket.

Elizabeth felt like she was about to be sick. At some point during Jane's acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, she has mentioned a popular childhood pass time at the Bennet household. Elizabeth's favorite stories had come from a twelve-volume set of books translated into French by Antoine Galland— the very same collection of stories from which the book Mr. Darcy now held in his pocket had drawn inspiration.

She would spend hours translating the stories into plays. She and Jane would use their pin money to purchase things that would aid them in altering their older dresses into costumes. This infuriated their mother who thought that if they were going to spend time and resources on something, play acting was not worthy. But each new play brought days of excitement, laughter, and entertainment for all of the Bennet daughters. The girls would practice their roles for weeks before giving a grand performance which was attended by their very own patron — their father. He too would laugh and applaud, assuring them that their plays were delightful.

Elizabeth could now appreciate that some of the stories had been a bit scandalous, and maybe it was true that play acting was not the most dignified hobby. But, until coming to Pemberley, it had never occurred to her that her childhood passion would one day be discovered and lorded over her head.

It had only taken two weeks before Mr. Darcy revealed he knew about her plays. She could not see her own reaction when he made his announcement, but it must have conveyed some of the shock and panic she was feeling. He started to slip quotes from the Galland edition into conversations, and every time he did so, his eyes twinkled in amusement. Now, he was in possession of the English version. She could only imagine the fun he would have mocking her in her native tongue.

"Thank you, Mr. Greenwood. I promise to put it to good use," Mr. Darcy said, patting his pocket. For only a fraction of a second, he glanced in Elizabeth's direction.

She wanted to slap him.

Mr. Greenwood nodded, before stating, "And I will just run to the back and collect your purchase, Miss Bennet."

Mr. Greenwood was out of view before she could think of a reason to delay him.

"Well, Well Miss Bennet. Fancy seeing you here. I guess one could say, _Il n'y a point d'autre science que celle du destin." _

Did he memorize passages from that damn book each morning and wait for the opportunity to quote them? She was not amused.

"Paper dolls, eh?"

She releases a breath. It came out as a hiss. She nodded before meeting his gaze.

"I am starting to understand why Charles would consider you as a guardian for his only child." There was no denying that a smile was fighting to emerge, but such a display was counter to his image, so he stifled it. "He must have felt a boy needs a playmate."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Elizabeth snapped.

His eyes crinkled in confusion.

A flash of triumph made her heart swell. She had managed to surprise him. He thought he was so mysterious, but she had noticed his daily pattern. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to tell him that she knew he kept a meticulous schedule.

"You would not want to miss your three o'clock stroll," she said, one eyebrow raised, daring him to contradict her.

His mouth fell open in a perfect impression of a cod fish. She savored the silence. It was so much sweeter knowing that she was the one responsible for his sudden loss for words. When Mr. Greenwood returned, she was almost sorry for the interruption.

"Here you are, Miss Bennet." The proprietor held out a wrapped packet which she took with a curtsy.

Her joy was short lived when her eyes returned to Mr. Darcy. Her fantasy of a lazy afternoon reading in the corner of this store was evaporating. Mr. Darcy showed no sign of leaving, and the primary advantage this place had over the extensive library at Pemberley was that Mr. Darcy was not supposed to be here. But here he was. He had placed his elbow on the counter and leaned over it as if to say he had no intention of going away. In all likelihood, she only had herself to blame. Had she not pointed out his daily routine, he would probably not be breaking from it.

She held up her package and said, "Thank you, Mr. Greenwood," before exiting.

Charlie's eyelids fluttered as he desperate fought to stay awake. He reached for his aunt in a half-hearted attempt before his chubby fist fell to his side and his lashes came to rest against his soft cherub cheeks. Elizabeth placed a gentle kiss on the child's forehead before quietly leaving the nursery and pulling the door closed behind her.

Tonight, things had been going well and her luck persevered. When she entered the parlor, she discovered Mr. Darcy was occupied writing at a desk conveniently located far from her couch. For once, she could be left alone in peace. A copy of Gulliver's Travels, which she had been itching to read, sat on the shelf just behind Mr. Darcy's desk. Could she retrieve it without upsetting the delicate balance of things? She studied him. He certainly appeared absorbed in his work. She would be quick, and he would hardly even register her presence.

She slipped behind the desk and drew no notice, but as her hand touched the spine of the book, a deep voice said, "Have you not read Gulliver's Travels, Miss Bennet?"

She took hold of the book and turned. He hovered over his writing, his back still facing her. How could he possibly have seen what she was reaching for? It was infuriating how well he knew her. It gave her the sense that the scales on the battlefield were uneven. She simply must learn to read him better.

"I'm surprised you cannot tell me the answer to that question, Mr. Darcy. You seem to know everything else about me."

He shook slightly, and she thought she heard something almost like a chuckle.

"I believe we established this morning that I am not a mind reader." He set down his quill and turned. His dark eyes looked directly into hers and she felt exposed. "There are a limited number of books on that shelf. Once I eliminate those titles, I know that you have read, the selection grows smaller yet. In the evening, you prefer to read in English which pares down your choices even further. Of those that remain in this subset, Gulliver's Travels most closely aligns with your reading preferences."

He was right, of course, but in explaining his reasoning, he demonstrated his advantage over her. How could she gain the upper hand when he understood her so well? What had he said this morning? That he was observant? Well, two could play at this game.

She leaned forward to "observe" his letter and in doing so set off a flurry of motion. His face drained of color. He spun around so quickly she was shocked that the page of paper had managed to stay in place. He poured sand over the page in such a large quantity his words were obscured. It was clear—he was hiding something, and she was certain it had to do with her.

While she had not seen much of his letter, she had noticed the words paper dolls. Her eyes narrowed. He was so childish. He had rushed home to write to his friends and tell them about his house guests silly collection. How thrilled he must have been discovering another one of her attributes he could mock.

Silently she carried her book to the couch. With a false smile glued to her face, she opened to the first page. She knew that, once again, her plans to read were destroyed. Even if she wasn't seething inside, this particular novel had lost all of its appeal. But she was not about to let him see that he had such influence over her. And she would rather die than have him discover just how much his letter had hurt her feelings.

Chapter 3

It had been a sleepless night. A question burned in Elizabeth's mind. Who had Mr. Darcy been writing to? She told herself it did not matter. After all, they did not mingle in the same circles. And, in all likelihood, his letter had not mentioned her name. The probability that news of her childish hobby would reach the ears of anyone she knew was so remote it was not worth considering. Yet, there was one nagging connection between her world and his that she tried and failed to ignore.

William Collins was a terrible gossip who also happened to be her cousin. Should he be given an opportunity to embarrass her, he would clumsily dance around his parlor with his steepled fingers drumming together. While his lack of coordination was inherent, he wasn't actual evil by nature. Rather, it was a crushing blow to his pride that would provide him such wicked glee at discovering her secret. Four years earlier, she had refused his suit.

Although he quickly found himself a wife worth her weight in gold, the sting of rejection rarely fully heals. He seemed to believe that embarrassing Miss Bennet would cauterize his wound. Having little interaction, and living in separate counties, such an opportunity had never materialized. But Fate does enjoy a twisted joke.

Somehow, Mr. Collins had a close connection with Mr. Darcy's aunt and cousin. Mrs. Collins, being a friend of Lizzy's, knew she was the sole houseguest at Pemberley. If that letter was written to one of the de Bourghs, and this small bit of amusement was shared with Mr. Collins, the pieces of the puzzle would all drop into place. Then, Litzy had no doubt, he would do his best to make her a laughingstock.

The next day, with Charlie down for his nap and Georgiana visiting a neighbor, Elizabeth decided it was time to find out to whom that letter was addressed.

They sat in their usual positions across from each other.

She lowered her book and said, "It was good to see you writing last night."

Mr. Darcy set his book down, leaned back, laced his fingers, and put them behind his head. He sat like this for several minutes, examining her face, before asking, "How so, Miss Bennet?"

If he was going to cast his book aside, she would do likewise. With a snap, it was closed and placed on the table beside her. She looked down at her hands and batted her lashes. "It is just, far too often landowners leave the running of their estates in the hands of their stewards. It was nice to see you preparing some of your own business correspondence."

A shadow passed over his face. "And why do you assume it was related to business?" His eyes grew dark.

She pouted and gave him a look filled with pity. "Well, I assumed because you have so few friends."

He grunted and repositioned himself. With his elbows now on his knees, he leaned in toward her.

His face was so close to hers, she had to fight her inclination to lean back. He was attempting to assert his dominance. Her throat tightened.

He dropped his gaze. "Are you suggesting I need more friends?" he asked softly. His voice was a deep growl, and it lacked his signature aloof tone. When his eyes traveled up her, they were filled with desire. If they had been stranded alone somewhere, she would have feared he was about to kill and eat her.

Heat filled her face. "I…I…" she stammered. The flutter in her chest seemed to keep her brain so occupied she could not access her words.

"Are you trying to tell me that you want to spend more time with me? To keep me from being…lonely?" He watched her closely and he gently bit his lower lip.

She tried to swallow and looked to the exit.

He smirked and leaned back. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

He was toying with her! Her hands balled into fists.

"You could certainly use more friends, Mr. Darcy, but I am not offering my services. If you could learn how to be a bit more friendly, I am certain you could find people who would spend time with you — and not out of obligation or pity."

"You think so?" He still did not sound himself. "And would it be fair to say that you believe you can teach me… how to be friendly?"

She remembered her objective. "Well, if you were not writing for business… if that was personal correspondence… um… that would be a good start." She shifted in her seat. He was still watching her as if he were hungry and she was a piece of steak. Why could she not get him to take the bait? "You should devote the necessary time to maintaining your long-distance relationships."

"So, you like to write long letters, Miss Bennet?" He licked his lips. "You enjoy taking the time to do things thoroughly and completely? You wouldn't want to rush any of the key elements required to maintain your personal relationships?"

He wasn't going to tell her who he'd written to. He was going to talk around in circles. And he was behaving oddly to throw her off center. She wished she could run to her room and complain to Jane. She missed having a real friend. It was exhausting spending all of her time with someone who intentionally tried to make her uncomfortable at every turn. Every time she looked at Mr. Darcy, she was reminded of her sister. The two were mirror opposites. She was so fair, kind, gentle, and soft. He was dark, cold, and hard. Why did Jane leave her stranded here? Tears gathered in the edges of her eyes.

"Actually, I wish I had spent more time in my letter writing," she said, her voice cracking.

Before the accident, Elizabeth and Jane exchanged letters once a week. Getting those letters was the highlight of her day. At the time, she felt they were doing a wonderful job of staying in touch, but now that Jane was gone, Elizabeth wished she had written daily.

She looked up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly. She did not want to cry in front of him.

Mr. Darcy sat up and cleared his throat. As if by a snap of the fingers, his strange behavior vanished. He sat as stiffly as ever, and he wore the emotions of a statue. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He thrust it toward her. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet."

She took the square of linen and silently cursed herself for being so weak. She dabbed at her eyes.

"When Georgiana returns," he said refusing to look in her direction, "perhaps you will both join me on a jaunt into town. I have something I would like to show you."

"Yes, of course."

He picked up his book. And just like that—as suddenly as things had gone wrong—the morning reshaped itself into its typically strained self.

The carriage came to rest in front of a small cottage Elizabeth had never visited before.

"We're here," Darcy announced. He opened the door and hopped down before the footman could perform these duties. He offered his hand, first to Miss Darcy, then to Miss Bennet, and finally to Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana's companion.

"And where is here, exactly," Georgiana asked.

Children ran around them, laughing and playing. The front door of the cottage opened, and a handsome man in his early thirties walked outside.

"We are at the Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley Home for Wayward Children," Darcy hastily explained before turning toward the man approaching them.

"Mr. Darcy," the man said as a friendly greeted. He tipped his hat.

"Dr. Sutton. I'm glad you were able to come by to check on the children today."

"Every Tuesday," the doctor replied. A little girl running by tripped on a rock and the doctor reached out and grabbed her before she hit the ground. He righted the girl, ruffled her hair, and watched as she resumed her path.

"I'd like to introduce you to my sister, Georgiana, her guest, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Mrs. Annesley, my sister's companion." Darcy motioned to each lady as he spoke her name.

The doctor bowed in greeting, and when he heard Elizabeth's name he beamed. "Miss Bennet, I have heard so much about you."

Elizabeth lifted her hand to her chest. "Me?"

"Yes. I ran into a mutual friend yesterday…Miss Harris. She could not say enough positive things about you."

Georgiana squinted up at the young doctor. "That seems unusual. How did Miss Bennet's name come up?"

"Uhm."

Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a bashful smile before he ducked his head and shuffled his feet. He reminded her of Jane. His blond hair and blue eyes complimented his classic features.

"Well, she recruited me to for this job —volunteering to help these children. When I began, there were half as many children as there are today, and she said to come to her if I needed anything. I ran into her yesterday and asked if on alternate weeks she would be able to assist me."

Elizabeth knew where this was going. She looked at Mr. Darcy. Apparently, he knew as well. He had crossed his arms and was glaring at her, silently issuing her a challenge to refuse. But Elizabeth wasn't sure she wanted to. A few hours every other week spent with small happy children did not sound half as unpleasant as spending that same time with a grown-up surly child.

"Wonderful. Will Miss Harris be helping then?" Georgiana asked.

He refused to look up. "She said she was overcommitted. And then she explained how she already had to solicit Miss Bennet's help for the craft booth. It sounds as if you too are a very useful resource for our small community."

Elizabeth knew enough of Miss Harris to know Mr. Sutton was not being completely honest. If he did not ask her to volunteer, Miss Harris would do so at their next meeting. But Lizzy appreciated that he was not asking someone he had just met to make such a commitment.

"She has been a tremendous help at Pemberley as well," Georgiana replied. She looked at Elizabeth with so much admiration, Elizabeth blushed. "I don't think we ever realized how lonely we were until she came to us."

Mrs. Annesley nodded in agreement.

"Well," Dr. Sutton said looking back toward the cottage. "The home is run by Mrs. Whitehouse, but she asked me to look after the place for a few minutes while she collected eggs from the neighbors'. Would you like me to show you around?"

"Please," Elizabeth answered.

He offered his arm and Elizabeth accepted.

"Lizzy, I assure you, when he looked at you, he practically glowed."

Almost as soon as the wheels had made their first rotation on the path back to Pemberley, Dr. Sutton became the topic of conversation in the carriage. Georgiana was giddy with excitement.

"There is an article in one of my magazines about what a bride must do when setting up a new household. Would you like to borrow it?" Georgianna asked.

"Now Georgie, that will not be necessary. He hardly even knows her," Mr. Darcy snarled.

The hairs on the back of Elizabeth's neck bristled. _I see. Once he gets to know me, he would never dream of proposing._ _Why would any man ever show any interest in me_? Elizabeth's nostrils flared. She did not feel anything for Dr. Sutton, but it was terribly rude of Mr. Darcy to deny she had any sort of feminine wiles.

"But did you not say that Mr. Bingley knew within five minutes of meeting his wife that she was the one?"

"That was different," he explained, "They were neighbors. Caroline became her friend. She invited her to his home. Miss Bennet has no reason to see Dr. Sutton again. An initial inkling will fizzle away if there is nothing there to fan it."

Georgiana turned and placed her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "He's right. You must volunteer."

"No!" Darcy had said the word too forcefully. He cleared his throat and in a calm voice added, "I mean she has already taken on enough charitable works. She is here for Charlie. She does not have the time for that."

"I think I am the best judge or what I must do and what I have time for," Elizabeth said. She looked out the window. "Dr. Sutton was very friendly, but I have no dreams of dragging him before a parson, Georgiana. And Charlie is my first priority, but he naps for four hours every afternoon, Mr. Darcy."

"Then you intend to volunteer?" Mr. Darcy asked. She turned to him. He looked drained.

"I need to think about it," she replied.


End file.
